What lies beneath the cover of the Hedgehog
by Nodamedameda
Summary: Being lonely is hard. Sometimes reaching to others seems even harder. Who can ever see under your prickly shell? Oh, poor hedgehog. AU


Chapter 01 Spiral

~8~

There was no greater momentum in her life than the one when Harry fell down, struck by a beam of dooming green light.

It was the peak, the climax, the world crushing down in a single instant, wiping everything under its way.

Every person in the field of battle stilled, staring at the unmoving body with disbelieving eyes. Voldemort laughed, a hollow, victorious and malicious laugh.

Hermione ran.

She sprinted madly to the safety of the school, stricken with terror. Running wildly in the corridors, she stupefied everything that might interfere with her, every opponent in her path. She did not have time, nor the state of mind to stop even when spells whizzed past her not a hair's breadth away.

When you have an urgent need, there is a place in Hogwarts you'd seek.

Stairs, left, stairs, up, up, up she ran, more corridors and stairs until she reached that specific part of 7th floor, wall opposite of a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.

One single thought pierced her mind of chaos.

_I must save Harry_

_I must save Harry_

_I must save Harry_, rang franticly

Thrice the phrase, thrice a pass

Had she been less distraught, she might have thought to rephrase her needs. Alas, she could not focuse on anything save for Harry, whom just fell dead on the battle ground. For example, she did not bid for saving the wizarding world from Voldemort's terror, nor did she elaborate on the means, and what Harry be saved from.

Save Harry from dying in that instance, save Harry from generally dying by Voldemort's hand, save him from the unbearable Dursleys, save him from the sorrow of losing his godfather

save him from losing his parents

save him, from his cruel destiny?

This question might bring light to some of the events about to take place.

Once inside the Room of Requirement Hermione shut the door with speed, cutting out the eerie noises from the corridor. It would not take long for the darkness to find a way to breach the magical walls. Eyeing around her suspiciously, Hermione took note of the fine sheet of sand filling the floor, starting just shy of her toes. Cautious, she stepped one foot forward in slow motion, to the soft, whitish sand.

As nothing seemed to happen she moved the other.

A cold chill ran down her spine.

Something was trying to crawl in from outside.

Instinctively she ran further across the sand, having a bad feeling about the dark magic just beyond the room. There was no time to wish for the room to at least bloody well do something before the sand already pooled around her, making her sink, deeper and deeper into sand, same sand that now also poured on top of her flowing down, there was no floor! Sand flooded everywhere, into her eyes, itching, stinging, in ears, irritating, mouth, so very dry and fine of build

the room, no the sand, whirled and whirled

around, round, round

_Spinning_

_like inside a vortex_

_of_

_black_

_white_

_and stars_

A most distorting experience. Had her brains not been washed by the sand she would have related the sensation akin to the one with travel by a Time Turner. Moreover the sand, while a shade whiter, held a resemblance too. She could've made quick math.

Nevertheless she didn't, currently sporting a major headache and a wave of motion sickness instead. After dry heaving a couple of times, she bent in two, vomiting a small pile of stomach acid fluid. Still feeling wobbly and jelly legged, she noticed the odd, foreign feel of her body. Moving was clumsy. Glancing at her limbs, her hands.. her hands had been shrunk. Not exactly as in shrunk.. more like.. younger, smaller hands, not just in size, but with the form, texture and proportions.

Limbs were shorter and slightly more shapeless, thin but round – and no breasts. Hips weren't wide, behind wasn't round and mature. Cheeks soft and plump, could belong to a cherub. Very silky. Hair was a lion's mane, so she could reach the conclusion that it still was probably her own. There were two options; either she was in a child's body that wasn't hers, or it was her younger body, of anything between maybe eight and eleven. She remembered her state of puberty starting at twelve.

If she was still in the Room of Requirement, it could conjure her mirror, couldn't it?

"I need a mirror on the wall", Hermione ordered and one appeared. A child Hermione looked back at her in worn, slightly tattered clothes but sporting no bruises, her body was pristine clean. She lifted her shirt on an impulse, finding a small birthmark in between her left rib cage. She felt around her teeth, and a glance at the mirror unfortunately told her that they were the same large teeth she'd had before the accident with Malfoy. Picking her wand from her pocket, she quietly reduced the size and length of her front teeth until it looked better.

Suddenly she remembered that there should have been sand. Lots of sand.

Not a grain was to be found.

There were no trembles along the walls, no sign of Death Eaters beyond the room.

Just the quiet, and her slightly uneven breathing.

Were all the dark troops destroyed? What had the Room of Requirement done to her?

Hermione drew her courage, opened the door to the corridor, wand ready.

Empty.

She did not drop down her guard.

Being acutely aware of her surroundings, she made her way several floors down, until the second floor, where she heard sudden talking.

It was professor McGonagall and professor Flitwick, engrossed in a discussion of student timetables.

"Professor!" she shouted.

Her own voice sounded really childish, high in pitch.

They both turned their heads in the direction of the voice, surprised. And there was no sign of recognition on their faces.

"You must be one of our first years, dear. How on earth did you wander here alone? You should have been sorted along with your peers minutes ago!" McGonagall chided her with a stern expression, took her by arm and dragged her along.

"And where is your uniform? All of you were informed to change on time at the train! _Fluctunifors_," Hermione's outer garments were transfigured in a flash of red into a trademark billowing black robe, with a white blouse and black skirt underneath, and her dirty, soggy socks into dashing tiny shoes.

"T-thanks. But don't you know me professor?" Hermione asked uncertain.

"Should I know you?" the professor looked at Hermione, wondering about the child's sanity.

Weren't these her professors at all, disguised by Polyjuice potion? Or could it be that she was eleven all over again; had she come here to repeat her past – no not repeat – change her past so Harry would be saved and they'd win against Voldemort with her knowledge of the future? But how could she, if there were two Hermiones? Or had something happened to the Hermione in here? Did she not exist anymore?

As she pondered on what to say, how to act, they had already arrived at the Great Hall, full of merry students and staff. McGonagall left her with Mr Flitwick and went to have a quiet talk with headmaster Dumbledore. Dumbledore was still alive so it had to be the past. Hermione franticly searched for a face of her own in the sea of young Gryffindors, but found none to her fortune. No, in fact, she could not find any familiar faces besides Harry's. Where was Ronald Weasley? Letting her eyes glade across the other tables as well, she noticed that all the students seemed off somehow. It wasn't the same as she remembered it. No, it _wasn't_ the same. She was startled from her thoughts when Dumbledore coughed and addressed her.

"Dear, there is no person from the list of this year's applicants, whose name wasn't called yet. Would you tell us your name?" he said with a look that promised that there would be a talk later in his office regarding this odd matter.

Would it be wise to give her name, if this wasn't her past? She decided against changing it, in front of the whole school, which had quieted down to listen to their exchange.

"Sir, I am Hermione Granger. Eleven years of age. I don't know why I didn't get an enrolment letter, as I'm able of performing magic.."

Dumbledore laughed heartily.

"Of course, dear, of course you are capable of magic as you have gotten here. Most splendid, a new student! Let us get you sorted", Dumbledore winked an eye mischievously.

"Albus.." McGonagall whispered, concerned.

"The sorting hat is just over there, sit and put it on", he advised Hermione.

Lots of whispers circled around the otherwise silent hall.

"Hermione Granger", announced the current Deputy Headmaster, an unknown, tall, cold eyed man with a rough voice. Definitely not her past, Hermione thought as she walked over to the chair and pulled the hat on, feeling a light nostalgia from the strange, leathery and heavy matter enclosing around her head.

For a long time the Sorting Hat didn't say anything. Hermione tried to talk to it in her mind.

-Please, I'd like to get sorted into Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. Either's fine, but I prefer Gryffindor.

Silence.

-You will let me go to Gryffindor, won't you? My friends, well at least some of them are there you see, and I'm of a loyal and courageous nature! It'd be a terrible incident if I didn't get sorted there.

Finally it spoke.

-A mystical thing you are,

extraordinary no doubt

Your whole existence a lie

here by spells 't is bound..

Holding a secret, hide and sneak,

a cunning plan, victory you seek

The path ahead has you shivering

indeed, I shall put you to

_Slytherin!_

-No, I belong to Gryffindor!

I belong to Gryffindor!

Hermione screamed inside her head.

"Miss Granger, please remove the hat from your head," said the professor from before, whom she with sudden clarity of mind identified as Professor Sullivan, a Defence against Dark Arts teacher between years 1963 and 1976, from _Hogwarts, a History_. Now that she looked around she could find names and descriptions for the few odd professors that had at first seemed unfamiliar, and from no other than her most favourite of books!

Casting a glance at the student tables again, she took note of a tall Slytherin boy with a curtain of shoulder length blonde straight hair and striking Malfoy features. Actually, a lot of the male students sported quite long hair – it had to be fashionable at that time – and it must be that time –

"Miss Granger, I repeat; please remove the hat from your person and take a seat at your House Table," said Mr Sullivan more insistently.

A young pigtailed girl at the front of the Hufflepuff table animatedly flailed her hands, mimicking the motion of taking off a hat.

Hermione opened her mouth, almost saying something, but thought better of it and quietly took off to the Table of Slytherin, casting a miserable glance at the Gryffindors, her original House.

Why on earth the Slytherin?

She was a Muggle-born, and of honest nature.

Already she could sense some unfriendly stares from her new table.

'Granger' was a dead give-away that she did not belong to any British pure-blooded families, furthermore, she had failed to even receive a letter – could she be a proper witch at all?

…Was what must have been brewing on the surface of their minds.

Dumbledore encouraged everyone to applaud the arrival of a yet new student and continued the feast.

After an uncomfortable silence, one boy inquired: "Are you a human? You didn't get the appliance letter, so maybe you are really a harpy?"

"Uh no, as far as I know I'm a normal human…"

"Then how come you didn't get the letter? Everyone who has magical abilities will get registered as a baby."

"Perhaps my magic grew after I was born, I don't know," Hermione replied weakly, knowing it untrue.

"Impossible!" someone commented.

"I guess they might have made a mistake," a curly haired girl wondered.

Lucius Malfoy sat three seats to the right across her. She tried hard not to be so conscious of him during the dining, but it was proving hard. Was this boy of sixteen already in the troops of Voldemort? Weren't the Slytherins the first ones to join him, and in the largest quantity?

Wasn't this the best opportunity to learn about their doings?

To have your friends close, but your enemies even closer…

It was a scary thought.

That she had come through time in order to change the flow of history, so that Harry be saved.

_I must save Harry!_

Magic was at the best of times, a magnificent, wondrous thing.

Hermione learned first the name of the dark haired boy whom had thought her a harpy, he was Cerell Criscel. The tiny, cute, doll-like girl in front of her was Alina Flidderick. The curly haired girl identified herself as Theodora Rosenlew, a boy who ate like no tomorrow managed to gasp out between chewing "Carl Crabbe", a boy with dark brown mop adorning his head was Christian Nott, a light polka cut girl Patricia Rosier, all first years.

She was at the table with many future Death Eaters. Malfoy, Avery, Crabbe, Lestrange, Nott, Rosier, Mulciber and possibly more. Dolohov was also recognisable as a tall 7th year.

There was no way Hermione would confess to being a Muggle-born in the middle of a Slytherin table. Should she invent a cover story? If she didn't plan on living there as an unsocial loner, at some point, probably sooner than later, she would have to tell her housemates something. Yes, the Slytherins, her current housemates. She still had yet to get quite over it.

"So, who were your parents?"

Christian Nott, a snot-nosed brat dropped the bomb.

"You wouldn't know them. We lived in Australia. My mother researched Charms. I might be able to make wands one day," the lies rolled down her tongue easily, smoothly.

"Seriously? You must be very gifted then," said the Rosier girl with slight envy.

"Why from Australia to here? Why didn't you stay and learn wandmaking, if you're so great?" Nott asked.

"My dad was killed when I was a baby, and mother died in a cave collapse, while she was digging out runes. I didn't want to stay so I came here to find Aunt Bathilda Bagshot,"

"-no way, the one that's nutty as squirrel poo?-"

"and she kindly told me to get here. She got me as far as Hogsmeade and from there I walked on foot. That's everything in short. But I'm very hungry, so if you'd excuse me for a moment," Hermione brought the dangerous discussion to a close, and started to fill her plate with vigour. She was left to eat in blessed silence.

Her performance however, had not ended at the eating table. When they were gathered, and walked to the Slytherin common room, she had to feign interest in surroundings, more than in her peers. She knew the route well enough; they had sneaked there with Harry and Ron a few times.

As the busy little first years swarmed out of the great hall, the past, or indeed the future, felt suddenly very far away. The Slytherins were gathered into a group and Hermione noticed small Severus Snape among them. He truly was so young that it was hard to recognise in him the potion master he would later become. In some way, Hermione had half mind to go and strangle him, shout and demand him how dare he murder professor Dumbledore – but it would be outrageously absurd. The rational side of Hermione thought that maybe the future of Snape could also be changed, prevent his involvement with Death Eaters. Because that was what this all was about, no doubt. Already the fact that the two professors had seen Hermione on the 2nd floor corridor, meant the change of the past, as well as the future.

She wasn't sure as to how this paradox was possible, but as of still the world had yet to cease to exist.

"What are you staring at?" young Snape asked in a sour tone.

Hermione flinched.

"I didn't mean to," she muttered.

It seems the first years had four rooms altogether, as the girls were divided into two.

When she had bid good night to her roommates, Alina, Theodora and Patricia, sleep evaded her no matter how she struggled. The day's events, the past, everything swirled restlessly inside her mind. Finally she gave up and settled on one particular subject that annoyed her.

Why had she been sorted amongst Slytherins? She had never held them in high contempt, nor had they her. She seemed to be the embodiment of everything they stood against. Courage, loyalty, average of wealth, a sucker for the rules, compassionate towards different magical species like werewolves, giants, house-elves and on the top of it all: she was a Muggle-born. While being aware, that she had not been the only of such blood to grace the silver-green colours, she realized that it would still be very hard to hide, and she made already very suspicious a character.

As in any book about Hogwarts, and also in her beloved book, Hogwarts, A History, it said that Slytherin values were cunning, resourcefulness and ambition. If she gave it some further thought, she could admit to carrying the first traits, especially the second one, and ambition… she'd always had ambition, hadn't she? In third year she'd insisted upon taking all twelve courses, in fourth year there was the House-elf Welfare campaign, and she had sometimes imagined herself a high career in the Ministry…

However, Hermione, a sneaky Slytherin? Even on that spot, the Sorting Hat had been right; she was bearing a grave secret. Feeling a sort of heavy, completely exhausting weight upon her, she fell at last into a light, restless sleep.

~8~

Thanks for reading!

=n_n=


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